Focus
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: Dean struggles to keep his focus while fleeing from the demon. A missing scene from Devil's Trap.


Title: Focus

Summary: Dean struggles to keep his focus while fleeing from the demon. A missing scene from "Devil's Trap."

A/N: I can't take credit for this plot bunny. geminigrl11 thought this one up, mostly for the sake of gratuitous Sam limpness, and I just couldn't resist. Credit also goes to Gem for the amazingly fast beta and encouragement. Also just wanted to shout out JJ Phoenix who has just completed her membership to SFTCOL(AR)S (you should check out her story--Raising the Stakes--written for her membership). The limpness in here is for her as well :)

Disclaimer: I own none of it--it truly does own me in more ways than I can explain.

**Focus**

_This plan, _Dean realized as he hit the ground below the fire escape, _might just work after all._

After all, they had succeeded in finding the demons and temporarily incapacitating them. They had found their father and gotten him free. They had lined the doors and windows with salt and were out the fire escape before anything could stop them. Their father seemed mostly okay—a little out of it, but he was able to climb down the fire escape—and as Dean helped him to the ground, he was beginning to believe their escape might just be painless.

They may not have killed the demon, but they were all alive, together, and mostly in one piece. And that was what mattered.

Overconfidence was one of the few faults his father had lectured him on. _Remember, whenever something can go wrong, you expect it, you anticipate it, so you know how to respond. You always keep your focus, even when you think it's clear._

Dean really hadn't expected it to be easy, but he also hadn't expected the man that flew from around the corner and tackled his kid brother to the ground with such surprising force. _So much for a quick escape_.

By the time he was able to disentangle himself from his father and run to Sam's aid, the man had already gotten a few good punches in, and Dean could tell that Sam was already seeing stars. Without hesitating, he kicked at the man, hard and in the face.

It would have knocked most people out. But Dean really should have realized that a demon-possessed man could not be knocked out.

Dean barely had time to register his mistake when he was flying through the air. His landing was hard, on a car's windshield, and his body protested.

_No, this isn't how it should be._ Dean had a job to do—he had to keep his family safe and together. He had to get them out of here.

Everything hurt, but as he struggled off the car, he could hear the damage being done to his kid brother, and that was all the motivation he needed.

The sound of Sam's flesh being pummeled was clear to him a beat before his eyes focused and he saw Sam lying limp on the ground, arms flailed out, unmoving at his sides, offering no resistance as the demon's fists found purchase again and again.

Dean staggered forward. This thing was going to kill his brother.

Human strength was useless, not that Dean had the energy to fight it anyway. There was only one option—one that he had promised himself he wouldn't use unless it came to life or death.

And it had--to Sam's life and seemingly impending death. There was no question when it came to Sam. That much had been clear to him since the night Sam had been thrust into his arms.

Dean didn't think as he pulled the gun out from his waistband. His eyes focused and his arms steadied as he took aim and fired.

The gunshot silenced the alleyway and the man fell away, blood pouring from his head and his body sizzling as the demon within died too.

A bullet. A man. A chance at vengeance. Dean had used them all, taken them all without question, to save the one thing that mattered most.

Sam.

He may have saved Sam, but this fight was nowhere near over. He had to get them out of there. Now.

Quickly, he moved to his brother, who had not stirred on the pavement. He leaned over, picking up Sam's arm. With his other hand, he grasped Sam's jacket, bracing himself as he strained to pull Sam up. "Sam."

Sam did not respond and did not move to help as Dean hoisted him to his feet. He felt Sam waver momentarily and he steadied him, grateful when Sam managed to stay standing.

With his brother ready to move, Dean looked toward his father, trying to figure out the next step. But all he could see was the man he didn't know on the ground, bleeding from the bullet that was never meant for him. He could feel Sam's heart pounding as he held his brother, and could not regret the sacrifice that had been made. Dean had one focus, and he could never regret keeping it.

"Come on, we've got to move."

oooooooooo

Sam stumbled, his world tilting wildly, and he could not stop himself from taking a knee to try to regain his composure.

He could hear Dean talking, mumbling something, something reassuring, and Sam realized Dean was trying to lift their father from the ground.

_Dad…Dad was hurt_.

Sam's mind worked foggily, recounting blearily how they'd found John tied up in the apartment. There was no way John was making it back to the car on his own.

He heard Dean struggle and grunt, muttering a curse or two.

Dean needed help.

Ignoring the way his vision seemed to swim in front of him, he stood, letting his instincts guide him. He helped Dean situate their father's arm over his shoulder, starting to move them all forward as he did. Sam followed mechanically, trying to keep his focus singular, so as not to let the chaotically spinning landscape turn his stomach.

But Dean was moving quickly—too quickly, and Sam's feet caught unsteadily on the ground below him. He tripped and his knees hit the pavement.

"Sam, come on, you've got to keep up." Dean's voice was short, curt, to the point. There wasn't time for this.

Sam moaned and wheezed, pushing himself back to his feet, tripping along behind his brother and father now. He kept his eyes trained on the back of their coats, moving, bouncing, walking, swaying—

Sam's stomach turned viciously, the colors around him melting and running together. He smelled vomit before it found its way up his esophagus.

He didn't remember falling to his knees again, only the painful sensation of his body retching and heaving, and the burn in his throat, his mouth, his nostrils.

"Damn it. Sam. Buddy, we're almost there. You've got to stay up."

Blackness encroached on his vision, but he nodded and spit, swaying as he stood. He couldn't see, not really, but followed his brother's presence.

_Where were they going? _Sam suddenly realized he couldn't remember. _Where were they? What were they doing? What had happened?_

The sudden loss of memory disoriented him and he felt himself panicking. His limbs felt funny and his head wouldn't clear. Something wasn't right, something wasn't okay, he was going to—he was going to—

He tried to call out, tried to ask for help, for time, for anything, but his voice wouldn't work.

His eyes roamed, trying to make sense of anything around him. There were trees and buildings—a river? And a car. The car. The Impala. And Dean and their father propped up against the door. Were they there yet?

Sam hoped so, because he couldn't feel his legs anymore, and the sunlight was being squelched from his line of sight.

He staggered forward a step farther. Dean was fumbling now, with the keys and their father, and Sam knew he should be helping, knew that Dean needed a hand, Dean needed—

He was going to throw up or pass out, but he didn't know which. His stomach was twisting uncontrollably and his vision had all but left him.

_Pass out_, Sam realized distantly as blue swam above him. This time he was going to pass out.

oooooooooo

Dean knew he would never be able to catch Sam as he saw him fall. He still had his father anchored in his grip, one hand on the car door, the other on his father's jacket. Sam was lurching like a drunk, his face still bloody, and he saw Sam's eyes roll up in his head the second before he fell. "Sam!"

Sam hit the ground with a thud, and Dean was grateful for the dirt that broke his brother's fall. Another crack to the head was not something Sam could afford right now.

Numbly, he positioned his father in the car, checking his pulse one more time before going back for Sam.

Dean's heart fluttered as he fell to his knees beside his brother. "Come on, Sammy," he called, his hands prodding and shaking. "Wake up, little brother."

Nothing. Not a grimace, not a flicker.

"Sam, we don't have time for this," he said desperately. One incapacitated family member was about all he could handle at a time.

He let his fingers rest on Sam's throat, checking for his brother's pulse, and he found it strong enough, though Sam was clearly not waking up any time soon. He didn't know how many times Sam had been hit—things had gotten hazy when he collided with the windshield--but given the bruising on Sam's face and his unresponsiveness, Dean knew Sam was concussed, probably badly so. He had to wake him up—probably needed to get him to the hospital.

He swore. There was no time.

He spared a glance back at the car. His father was already secure, laid out across the backseat. They had to get out of here. The demons were still in the area, and he doubted they would take kindly to the death of their colleague.

Without hesitating a moment longer, Dean maneuvered his way behind Sam, lifting his brother up and wrapping his arms under his brother's armpits. Locking his hands around Sam's chest, he began dragging Sam, with difficulty, back to the car.

He laid Sam in the seat carefully, strapping Sam in before shutting the door and settling in the driver's seat. He gave one look in the rearview mirror at his father, then turned his gaze to the side to his brother, started the engine and peeled out.

He was a mile outside of town when it caught up with him.

Neither his father nor his brother had made a sound, had moved, and their stillness was beginning to frighten him. He had been raised to be strong, to be sure and confident, but he had never felt more alone in his life.

_Suck it up, son_, he could hear his father saying. _Stay focused._

Gritting his teeth, he tried to quell the growing emotion that threatened to overtake him. Winchesters didn't cave under pressure. Winchesters didn't give into fear.

But he had never felt so close to losing his family—not like this. They had both been hurt before—he'd seen them both doped up in hospital rooms before, hooked up to machines. But he had never faced them this injured at the same time. To see the two people that mattered most to him, sprawled out in his car, their well-being completely in his hands--it was a weight he didn't quite know how to deal with. How close had he come to losing them? He felt so alone--and not just because they were unconscious.

He didn't just risk losing them physically, but mentally and emotionally too. The closer and closer they got to finding this demon, the more alone he got, the more he lost of his brother and his father.

And their sense of fatalism didn't help matters.

This wasn't a fight his father expected to survive. This wasn't a fight his brother intended to hold back from. This was the fight that they would both sacrifice themselves for, no questions asked.

At least no questions until the dust had settled and Dean found himself alone.

Dean could handle a lot of things, but he didn't think he could handle being that alone.

He watched his father in the mirror. John slept on, his breathing deep and even.

He supposed he should have expected it from his father. It didn't really surprise him to know that John didn't expect to outlive this quest, but it had hurt him nonetheless. He had promised himself all along that he would be the strong one for his father, be the one who would stand firm when his father felt himself wavering in the despair that threatened to overtake him in the wake of their mother's death. That was his duty to his father, and he didn't plan on shirking it now, not even to his father's own sense of sacrifice.

He had never expected it from Sam, although in retrospect, he supposed he should have seen that coming too. Sam had always wanted away from the hunt, wanted to move on and find something beyond it. He had wanted that so badly that he had left the family for it, so Dean had always figured that there was little Sam _would_ sacrifice for the sake of vengeance.

He knew Jessica's death had changed Sam, but he had never realized just how deeply. It had taken his brother's hopes and dreams and turned them into burdens, debts, curses. Sam still wanted it, but resigned himself to never having it. He suddenly understood Sam's desire for vengeance--because only at the end of the quest could Sam ever be at peace. Until he killed this demon, what it had done to him would haunt him forever. And when Sam had begged to go back into the burning house, Dean knew that Sam would rather die than live like that.

He looked again at his brother. Sam's eye had nearly swollen shut and blood stained his face. Sam had never been this badly beaten before, and he shuddered to think about the way the Sam's head and rolled had snapped back and forth under the demon's strong and relentless fists. A few more punches and Dean doubted if Sam would still be with them at all.

Taking in Sam's lifelessness, Dean almost doubted it now. Sam had never exactly been coherent after the attack. He had never taken the time to assess Sam's mental state--he had merely made sure he was standing and moving before getting the hell out of there. The loss of consciousness did not bode well for his kid brother, and he knew that he needed to rouse Sam as soon as possible or all the stealth in the world wouldn't save his brother.

They were on the highway now, Missouri's countryside speeding by outside the windows. His mind raced. They had a few safehouses scattered throughout the country, all in obscure locations, for times when the hunt got rough and life got difficult. The closest one he could remember was in northern Missouri, near the corner of Iowa and Illinois. It was a long drive, but the secluded location far outweighed the length of he trip.

Tentatively, he reached out and took his brother wrist in his hand, letting his fingers feel for Sam's pulse. He found it, and promptly swore.

It was too slow. Dean reached his hand to his brother's chest and paused, timing the far too lethargic rising.

His stomach dropped. Sam's vitals were dropping. This was not good.

Sam needed a hospital. Hell, John probably did too.

But hospitals were not a luxury they could afford right now. He did not doubt that the demons would be after them, and a hospital was too fertile with unsuspecting souls to possess. Hospitals would strip Dean of his control, would separate them and make them vulnerable.

With a curse, he slammed on the breaks and brought the car to the shoulder roughly. He heard a groan from the backseat. "Dean?"

Dean looked into the mirror, relieved. "Dad?"

"Dean? What's going on?"

Dean turned, trying to catch his father's eye. "We're getting out of here. We're going to the cabin. Figure that far off the beaten track, we'll be safe. We can hole up for awhile so they don't find us."

John blinked hazily. "Then why are we stopping?"

"I've got to check on Sammy."

"Sammy's hurt?" John tried to push himself up.

Dean reached over and gently pushed his father back down. "Take it easy. You're not looking too hot yourself there. I can take care of Sam, okay? Then we'll keep moving. We've got quite a drive ahead of us, but I think we'll make it there before morning.."

John let himself be pushed back on the seat, nodding wearily. "You're a good son, Dean. Always keeping us together."

Dean allowed himself a small and surprised grin. "Just following orders."

A smile fluttered across John's face before he drifted to sleep once more.

Dean stilled his fears about his father's well-being, and turned back to his brother. Scooting over, he let his hand rest on Sam's throat again, feeling more carefully the thrumming of his pulse, hoping to find it more consistent without the bouncing of the road to interfere.

No such luck. If anything it was getting slower. Sam was worsening.

Dean fumbled for the glove compartment, pulling out a flashlight. Gently, he turned his brother's head toward him. Flicking the flashlight on, he peeled back Sam's good eyelid, checking for a response.

The pupil responded to the light, so Dean moved carefully to Sam's swollen eye, trying to pull it open as well. The puffy flesh resisted, but Dean finally managed to see enough of the pupil to see that it, too, responded well to the light.

He sighed. It could be worse.

But he still needed to wake Sam up. With his heart rate slowing, Dean knew unless Sam woke up soon, there was a growing possibility that his heart might stop altogether. "Sam? Come on, Sam, you've got to wake up for me."

Nothing.

Dean grimaced, now turning Sam's head to inspect the damage. He felt along Sam's cheeks and nose, checking for broken bones. Luckily, the cheeks seemed intact, but Dean felt a suspicious movement in the nose. He examined Sam's mouth, relieved to find all the teeth in place, though the lip was split and bloody.

As he fondled the opened skin along the side of Sam's face, he heard a groan. "Sam? You with me?"

There was no reply again, but Dean was more persistent. He let his finger press on the bruised flesh again and he shook his brother. "Sam, you've got to wake up."

There was another moan, louder this time.

"That's it, little brother. Wake up now."

Dean applied more pressure, and Sam weakly tried to pull away, his eyes blinking open. Sam mumbled something.

Dean nearly laughed with relief. "What's that?"

"…hurts…"

"Good. Focus on that, Sammy. Focus on it, and stay with me, okay?"

Sam's eyes struggled to stay open. "…sleep…," he mumbled, letting his head drift sideways.

"Nope," Dean said quickly, turning Sam back to look at him. "You can sleep when you're dead." He swallowed, not willing to think about how close Sam had come to being just that. "Right now I need you to stay awake. Help me figure out where we're going."

Sam blinked again, this time opening his eyes wider and wincing. "…happened?"

"Well, you did a great impression of a punching bag back there and then, to top it off, you pulled off an impressive imitation of a limp noodle."

Sam tried to shake his head, but the movement made him gasp. "Huh?"

Dean let himself chuckle this time. "Don't worry about it, okay? Just stay awake. Do you think you can do that?"

Sam struggled to lift his head. "...I have a choice?"

Dean allowed himself to grin. "Not really."

Taking a deep breath, Sam straightened somewhat.

"If you need anything, you talk to me, okay? If you feel yourself drifting, talk. If you think you're going to hurl, we'll pull over."

Sam rested his head against the window and looked sleepily at his brother. "Upholstery?"

"You know it," Dean said, putting the car in gear. He saw Sam wince out of the corner of his eye as he pulled back onto the highway with rapid acceleration. He looked apologetically at his brother. "We've got to put as much distance between us and those things as possible. No telling if they're after us."

Sam nodded wearily. "Just lead on, bro," he said softly.

Dean just nodded, turning his focus back to the road. That was, after all, what Dean did. And as long as his father and his brother needed him, Dean would do his job.


End file.
